Memos from a cultural omnivore and incurable note-scribbler.
It’s been a while since I’ve posted on Marginalia, and now that I’m about to embark on a long trip rife with things to photograph and write about, I think it’s time for a fresh start.
From now on, consider Marginalia -and the period of my life it was meant to capture- dissolved. Going forward, catch me at realandripe.tumblr.com. It should be fun: more posts, more photos, and a lot more of my own writing. I’m psyched.
Au revoir!
I’m always amused and oddly impressed by the men who sit in Bryant Park during the lunch hour, businessmen stripped to the waist. Their suit pants and buffed Cole Haans prevail, but their chests and shoulders and rounded, middle-aged bellies lay naked to the sunshine. They sit like Buddhas, perfectly still, eyes closed, with their blue dress shirt in their hands.
Others spare us their stoic nudity and instead subtly take off their shoes and socks and eat their sandwiches with their toes curling in the grass. Back to nature and the elements, from 12:45-1:30.
I went on vacation and offline for a week, and it was amazing. Now I’m back to cubicles, Twitter, daily makeup application and midtown. On the other hand, I’m back to New York in the summer— popsicles on the High Line, runs along the Hudson and midnight walks in the Village included. Could be worse.
**photo credit goes to the delightful and talented Sarah Erickson.
I had forgotten all about this post, but someone linked to it on Facebook and it seems particularly apt today, now that the New York Times is running articles on the latest people who think the world is ending tomorrow and the trouble they’re having getting their kids to make their beds. If my mom was telling me the world was ending tomorrow, I wouldn’t make my bed either. I WOULD, however, hang onto my cereal.
